


Aftershocks

by HippiestHop



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Concussions, Gen, Oops sometimes you leave a cult and dont know what to do with yourself, Post-Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:53:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28165806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HippiestHop/pseuds/HippiestHop
Summary: Immediately after the end of season 2, so SPOILERS.Din's head pounds after the encounter with the dark troopers, but he's too busy missing Grogu to understand why his thoughts are scrambled. Cara helps him get somewhere safe, and he comes as close as he'll let himself to regret.Then he decides he's no longer Mandalorian, and no one really knows what to do about it, especially not him.
Relationships: Background Bo-Katan Kryze/Koska Reeves
Comments: 11
Kudos: 162





	1. Din

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All chapters will follow Din's growth, but may be from a different POV. Chapters will be titled appropriately.

The elevator door closes, and Din doesn’t move. He wants more than anything to run back to the monitor, to get a glimpse of Grogu as he left with the stranger, but his feet won’t move. He should do something, anything, but his world is collapsing around that elevator and he can’t tear his eyes off it.

He means more to me than you will ever know.

Moff Gideon is restrained behind him, the dark troopers in ruins in front of him and somewhere below him a jedi walks towards an x-wing, the kid in his arms and a droid at his side. His task was complete.

A hand falls on his shoulder. “You putting your helmet back on? We’ve gotta start packing up, Fett’ll be back soon. We’ve only seen the back of your head, you know.”

He stiffens, his thoughts scattering as Cara’s words hit his ears unfiltered. It was so much, too much, but he shakes his head, picking up his helmet and keeping it at his side. “No. It’s- well, no. I’m not.” He turns around, eyes on the floor, but flinches back from everyone anyway. Their surprise would be worse if he could think about anything other than the x-wing about to jump into hyperspace

They clean up around him, Fennec and Cara hauling the Moff down the hall to wait for Fett, Bo-Katan and Koska taking review of the damage to their new ship. He stays there, staring out into space at where a ship used to be.

Then he’s jerked around, and Cara’s looking directly in his eyes. His move to the left, not knowing what she can see in his face except that it’s too much. Too much, when he can barely feel anything at all. “Mando,” she says, one hand on each of his shoulders. “C’mon. Fett’s here, time to go.”

His brow furrows. That’s not right, not anymore. “Don’t-”

“Excuse me?” Cara lets him go, turning to face Bo-Katan. Her own helmet is gone, and in her hand, the darksaber, powered down and held with a loose grip. “He’s coming with us. He’s a Mandalorian, and whether I like it or not he won the darksaber, which means we need him to restore Mandalore.” Bo-Katan crosses her arms, and near the door Koska straightens.

Cara says something back, but their voices fade out, leaving Din on his own once again. He hadn’t thought past this point, not since the beginning. He had been going to get his kid back, then they would have kept looking for the jedi, and after that he would have gone back to his covert, gotten a new task, gone back to bounty hunting, something other than standing here not able to think, with a head that keeps getting more full even though he can’t get anything out of it. Since Grogu had been taken it had been clear what each next step was, and he had taken them, taken them all with no regrets, but it’s easy to give up one home when you’re tracking down another.

Then a handle is shoved in his face and he flinches back again, this time sinking to the ground. “Whoa-ho, Mando.” That’s Cara, he knows she’s there, but he can’t, can’t something and he’s not sure what but then her arms are wrapped under his and her shoulder’s in front of his face and he’s on his feet again. “Kryze, this is clearly a discussion for later. You know where to find me.” Then they’re out the door. Koska must have moved at some point, but he can’t remember when. “Hey buddy, I need you to talk to me, alright? Doesn’t matter what, just need to know you’re alive in there.”

He could do that. He could do that. “You’re not the first, you know. To see me without the helmet.” Then he stops, ignoring the way his arm tries to tug him forward because it’s wrapped over Cara’s shoulders, ignoring her arm around his back urging him forward because his helmet. It’s not on his head and it’s not in his hands and he’s not supposed to wear it anymore but he is nothing without it. “Where is it? I need it, I need to go back, I need to find it.” He turns, tries to turn but she stops him.

“Hey, hey, I’ve got it, you dropped it when you fell.” She looks at him, and he looks at her and she is so concerned and he hates that she can see how he’s feeling, maybe even what he’s thinking, he doesn’t know, he doesn’t have practice, and he’s never been that good on the other side, seeing how others felt, except with Grogu. “Do you want it back on?

Din shakes his head, then stops and closes his eyes, sagging in her grip. When he opens them again the world isn’t swirling quite so much. “Did you see the jedi? He knew what the kid wanted, just like that.”

She stares at him, looking for something but he doesn’t know what. “What you need is some bacta. What did they hit you with?” They’re on their feet again.

“And I only ever guess, I don’t understand him the way they do.”

“I’m serious, Mando. I need to know how you’re hurt. You’re not bleeding, at least not externally, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

He pauses, thinking. He can’t walk and think at the same time, it’s too much. “Gideon, with the darksaber. But he didn’t get me, I’d be dead. Before that, some stormtroopers. Before that…” He stares at nothing, then blinks, shuddering away a bit of the haze. “A dark trooper got me in the head. Five? Five times.”

She looks back at him, and he can’t tell what she’s thinking, he never quite can. “Dank farrik,” she spits, and that’s a good clue. “Okay, let’s get back to the ship. It’s a good thing your helmet’s off, I wouldn’t want to see what it would look like if you threw up while wearing it.”

They make their way through the halls, down that awful elevator and to the ship. The ship that isn’t his, because his is gone along with his kid and his creed and everything that makes him Mandalorian except the beskar. He gets through the entrance and there’s Fett, helmet on, and he stumbles over because this is what he’s used to. Faces are too complicated, too different and nuanced, but when Fett stiffens Din knows it’s because he’s uncomfortable, and when he looks over to Cara it’s a question, and it’s so much more simple than everyone else. Maybe he should think Fett doesn’t deserve the armor, that he’s not Mandalorian enough for it, but he wears it with ease and the sight is all Din can allow himself of home.

“Concussion,” Cara says, and that should probably mean more to him than it does but he’s so tired. “It’s pretty bad. He wants the helmet off, which is good because we’ll need to know if this gets worse. Fennec told you about the kid?”

Fett nods, relaxes, but only a little bit, and it makes so much sense that Din’s sad to be guided away. Cara helps him lie down, then brushes back some of his hair, stuck to his forehead with sweat. It’s strange, but he doesn’t mind.

She smiles, but only a little bit, and he doesn’t know what that means. “Sleep, I’ll wake you up in a couple hours. Need anything else?”

He pauses, trying to think, but nothing’s moving in his brain. Then his hand reaches down and pats his pocket, outlining the small metal ball inside. He closes his eyes, and lets his hand fall.

“You did alright, Mando. Get some rest.”


	2. Din

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din leaves home without his armor and doesn't have a good time.

Din sat up, marveling at the way the sunlight felt on his arms and face. On another day the unfamiliar warmth might have lured him back to sleep, but recently he had enough bed rest to please a hutt. With nothing to do but think, it had been a trying week and a half.

On the journey back to Nevarro everyone had been walking on eggshells around him, he could remember that even through the concussed haze. Of course, he couldn’t blame them. With the kid gone for good and his helmet off, they didn’t know what to expect from him. They weren’t the only ones.

He stood and put on the clothes that had been picked out for him, avoiding looking at the pile of metal in the corner that his armor had been reduced to. He could wear it if he wanted to, he figured, if he needed to, but he didn’t. There were no fights in the schedule today, no bounties that needed collecting, and no one left to protect. It wasn’t needed. He wasn’t needed.

Din’s lips tightened, and he carefully ignored that thought as he picked up the little metal ball from the nightstand and slipped it into a pocket. Today he was going to go outside, find some work to do, and do it. He’d been resting on Cara and Greef’s charity too long, and there was always more that needed doing in a town like this one. So what if he hadn’t left the building since arriving, there was no point in waiting any longer.

He opened the door and stepped out, closing the door behind him. The building he’d left was just as small and run-down as any other in the area, nothing to suggest that a priceless amount of beskar was waiting inside. Once it had been made clear that he didn’t plan on wearing anymore Cara had offered to keep it locked up for him, somewhere thieves wouldn’t be able to get to it, but he refused. It was his problem to deal with. It had once meant everything to him, and he wanted to keep it nearby, even if the sight of it now made him nauseous. Even if he had broken the rules it stood for. Even if-

No. Today he was going to find a job and do it, and that meant finding Cara. She normally checked in on him in the middle of the day, but waiting would be a waste of time. He stepped away from the door and into the street. There weren’t many people out and about, but he could feel every eye as it passed over him, each person documenting what he looked like, both the traits he had chosen and the ones he couldn’t, like the shape of his nose and the paleness of skin that had gone years without sun and the way his nervousness played out all over his face and he couldn’t stop it, couldn’t look at anyone because that way they’d get a better look at him, at his emotions that were his and no one else’s but they were getting them anyway because his body language he could control but he had no practice with expressions, had never had the need for practice because there hadn’t been a future where it would come up. He hadn’t even considered a future where he removed his helmet, broke the creed and couldn’t return. The covert had been his life, and without it there was nothing left

He put his hand back in his pocket and squeezed the ball, the hole where it had screwed onto the lever digging into his palm. He had chosen this, he reminded himself. Every choice since finding the child had been done with intent, and he would not change a single one.

That’s what he told himself at least. It was the only way to stay sane.

“Mando!” 

Din’s head shot up, eyes darting around for the source of the voice. It was Greef, walking in the opposite direction, looking straight at him. The back of his mind was calculating escape routes, timing how long it would take to get back to his building, to duck behind another, how if he only had his jetpack he could get on the roof of that one and hide behind that chimney because this wasn’t in the plan, and now everyone around them knew who he had been and what he had done. He could feel their eyes evaluating, taking in his pale skin, lack of armor, and lack of obvious weapon. He wasn’t completely defenseless of course, he had a knife in a boot and a small blaster strapped to his back under his shirt, he wasn’t stupid, but he wasn’t really supposed to have those because he wasn’t Mando anymore. He wanted to scream at Greef to stop looking at him to give him Greef’s gun, to stop sounding so friendly. Instead he just said “It’s Din,” and it came out too soft without his helmet to modulate it.

“Right, right, old habits die hard. What can I do for you?”

“I’m looking for a job.”

As soon as he’s spoken Din could see it didn’t land the way he wanted it to, can see it in the way Greef’s mouth tightened, his eyebrows rose, and his gaze jumped around Din’s body, taking in every inadequacy. Din scratched at the bandages still wrapped around his forearm, and pretends he can’t feel Greef’s pity.

“I’m not sure I’ve got anything suited for you right now, but I can see about finding a lead on a new ship. I heard from Cara about the Razor Crest. A damn shame, but no surprise with the way you were running her into the ground.” The side of Greef’s mouth quirks up, inviting him into the joke that was offered as a consolation prize.

Din shook his head, trying not to get distracted by the feeling of his hair shifting as a breeze picked up. Tried to ignore Greef noticing his distraction. “Not the kind of job I meant. Forget it, I’ll ask Cara.” He stepped around the man, putting it all behind him.

But Greef wouldn’t be bypassed. He grabbed Din’s arm. Gently, but Din was aware that for every callus and scar he can feel on his skin, the other man could feel the same about him. The spots his muscle met bone, a scrape that was still rough to the touch, where his skin was smooth. He needed to get a shirt with longer sleeves. “In that case I’ve got just the thing. You can watch over the Mythrol, make sure he doesn’t try anything with our finances and step in if he needs help. Next time I see Cara I can check if she had anything in particular in mind for you, but until then we’ll be just over here,” Greef said, pointing across the road and a couple buildings down.

Din nodded, stuck between gratefulness for a reason to get out of the open and shame that his problems were so obvious. He followed close behind Greef, keeping his eyes on the man’s back and not on the few people around him. Kept his feet moving, his shoulders back, his arms relaxed at his sides. Tried to keep his face from moving, even though he wasn’t sure what expression it was in. He’d been avoiding mirrors, but he knew he had to practice if he was serious about this, just… not yet.

Then they were inside, and he immediately slid down to sit against the wall, elbows on his knees and hands against his face, covering as much as they could and feeling the air pass by with every breath. This was okay. He was okay

“Um, is he alright?”

That was the Mythrol. He wasn’t a threat. Greef Karga wasn’t a threat right now. No one else was in the room. Din was safe. He still didn’t want to remove his hands.

Then Greef’s hand was on his wrist, pulling his left hand away from his face, and Din let it fall. That was necessary to make eye contact, which apparently was something the man felt the need to do. Greef was kneeling next to him, face full of pity that Din wanted nothing to do with. “I’ll see if she’s got something you can do away from other people, huh?”

Din shook his head, letting his other hand fall. “Anything is fine.” His voice obeyed him, steady and firm. His hands weren’t shaking. He could stand back up if he wanted to.

But clearly whatever Greef saw in his face betrayed him, because the man stood back up with a snort. “Always doing things the hard way,” he muttered, shaking his head as he walked out the door.

After a blessed moment of silence the Mythrol stood up to better see him over the desk he was behind. “So… I’m Jance.”

“Din.”

Another moment, then “Right. Why are you, um, here?”

Din stood, legs feeling weak but there was rarely a conversation he wanted to have with the other person standing over him. “I’m supposed to help you. I can bring you things?” He wasn’t really sure what the Mythrol was doing, so it came out more of a question than intended.

Clearly something about that had struck Jance wrong, because he had paled to a lighter blue, jumped back, and was pointing at Din even though they were the only two in the room. “You’re that Mandalorian!” The man was terrified, which at some level Din appreciated. “You know, ‘I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold.’” He paused, and let his arm fall. “What happened to you.”

The answer was not anything Jance deserved to hear, but there was one thing that needed to be cleared up. “I’m not a Mandalorian anymore. Call me Din, if you have to call me anything.”

“Right, right.” They Mythol stumbled over to the door. “Well, I’m just going to, yeah. Alright bye!” Then he was gone, and Din was alone.

Alone with nothing to do besides think, which was what he’d been trying to avoid with this disaster of an outing. Think about how once he’d taken the helmet off he hadn’t been supposed to put it back on, but he had, for the kid. But that was okay, because it had been to protect the kid, protect the other half of his clan. So maybe he had broken his creed and could never return to the covert, had honestly been moving farther away from his creed with every month away from the others, with every other person he’d seen in Mandalorian armor who didn’t follow it. But at the time it was okay, because he’d had a goal: save the kid. Then, of course, he’d given the kid away to a stranger.

He tried every way to rationalize it. His creed had demanded it, but he’d already abandoned his creed in favor of the child. That without a ship of his own he wouldn’t have been able to protect the kid. That the jedi could clearly do so much better, seeing as he’d sliced through each of the dark troopers with no trouble at all, when Din had barely escaped from one, and had let them take the kid to Gideon in the first place. That the kid needed training, which was true, and not something Din could give him.

But it wasn’t enough. He’d handed his foundling, Grogu, the other half of his clan over to a stranger. He’d been supposed to, but that was no excuse. Grogu was his responsibility, his family. Din couldn’t protect him if he wasn’t with him, and now he would never know if his kid was alive, let alone doing alright.

That was why he’d stopped wearing his armor, stopped being a Mandalorian. He’d given up his ad’ika. The worst part was that if he had a chance to do it all again, he would make the same choice. Grogu needed more than what Din could give him, and if Grogu was what Din needed, that shouldn’t be the kid’s problem. Not when he had wanted to go with the jedi, had left Din by choice.

His hand was shaking in his pocket, wrapped around the metal ball that was all that was left of the Razor Crest, and all that Din had left of Grogu. His son.

Then the Mythol’s phone rang. He got up, picked up the phone, “Hello?”

Cara’s voice came through, and it was enough to release the tension in his shoulders. “Din! I hear you’re looking for work. It’ll be tedious, but there’s a giant pile of scrap on the edge of town, mostly pieces of crashed vehicles hauled there because they were too broken to fix. We need someone to sort through it, find out what can be reused as-is, what can be melted down, and what’s too far gone to be of any use. That something you’re up for?”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Great. And hey, I’m glad to hear you’re up and about, but don’t push yourself too hard, okay?”

Din hung up the phone, took a deep breath, then was out the door again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, I caved and made this a longer fic because I have no control. Who knows where it's going? Not me.
> 
> Also I gave the Mythrol a name cause honestly rude not to. If he's got a real one, let me know and I'll fix it.


	3. Bo-Katan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bo-Katan gets her fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're coming back to this because I posted a new chapter, I actually stuck it between the first one and this one, so go ahead and click "previous chapter" for the new content.

Bo-Katan strode forward, darksaber held in a loose grip at her side. Koska was at her side as always, but this was her personal mission, and Koska was only there as a witness. They’d spent hours discussing it, but whatever the consequences, she would accept the outcome. She needed to prove herself, and if she wasn’t up to the task it wouldn’t reveal any weakness that wasn’t already there.

As they walked through the town people got out of the way, looking at them with raised eyebrows. It was because of their armor, it always was, but that was nothing to hide from. Her armor was who she was, from the beskar itself which had been passed through the generations to the detailing she had spent hours over, recording who her life had shaped her to be in symbols and colors. No, their armor was their life, and no Mandalorian with any pride would shy away from the gawkers. Let them stare, let them marvel at the price the suit would fetch, she had earned every ounce and would defend it with her life.

Finally she reached the marshal’s office, entering and taking off her helmet for Dune’s benefit. “Where is he?”

The marshal didn’t even look up from her work. “Just outside of town to the west. There’s some salvage he’s sorting through, you won’t miss it.”

Bo-Katan nodded and stepped back, but it wasn’t enough for Koska. “You’re not going to hide him from us?” she asked, and Bo-Katan could hear the sneer in her voice even though she’d left her helmet on. “That’s a change from last time.”

Dune let out a chuckle, looking up from her work and leaning back in her chair. “He’s a big boy, he can take care of himself. Trying to pick a fight with someone who’s concussed though, I thought you mandalorians were all about honor? I’m surprised you managed to wait the full month I gave you, honestly.”

Koska bristled, but Bo-Katan turned and grabbed her shoulder. “Let’s go,” she murmured, “she doesn’t matter.” She walked out the door, not looking back but knowing that Koska followed her. Her helmet went back on, and if there was more tension in her steps, well, Dune’s people already knew to get out of her way.

They went west, single minded in their goal, and soon enough the buildings became more sparse, then in the distance they could see a glistening pile of metal, and as they grew closer they could hear clanging as a lone figure moved it around, sorting anything small enough to be moved by hand into piles. He was dressed in loose, dusty clothes, with heavy gloves to protect his hands.

“You!” She called out, using her no-nonsense voice. She didn’t have time for a wild goose chase, and this was clearly the spot Dune had mentioned. If the marshal thought she could hide away the man she had to fight she was going to learn otherwise the hard way. “Where’s Mando?”

The man looked up from the scrap heap, then bent over to set his gloves on the ground. A metal ball on a chain necklace fell out from under the collar of his shirt, and when he straightened to face them he wouldn’t meet her eyes through her helmet, instead looking at her torso. “It’s Din,” he said, brown eyes glancing up and then away again. “My name is Din Djarin.”

Koska gasped, and Bo-Katan glanced at her without moving her head, but with the woman’s helmet on it was hard to tell what she was thinking. Then she took a closer look at the man, and her stomach sank. She hadn’t taken too close of a look at the man on the starship, it felt too personal, and like something he would regret, but the brown hair, the moustache, she knew it was him. She didn’t know much about his sect of Mandalorians, but going from never taking off his helmet to walking around without a single piece of armor in a month - that wasn’t right.

“What happened to you?” she demanded, hand clenching around the darksaber.

He shrugged, eyes still avoiding her, but his body shifted into a ready stance, and his face was set in determination. “Nothing happened that you didn’t see. I’m not much of a Mandalorian anymore.”

Bo-Katan stepped forward, once, twice, then shoved him. He stepped back with it, not stumbling, but not resisting either. “You take that back,” she growled, ripping off her own helmet. “So people have seen your face. Their eyes can’t take anything from you that you don’t give.”

Koska stepped up beside her, helmet off and eyes full of pity. “You’re Mandalorian, Din. You, not your armor. Whether you’re wearing it or not, you still have the same experiences, the same values. You’re still the same person.”

There was silence a moment too long, and Din’s eyes hardened. “You’re wrong,” he said, stepping around them. He walked out a few meters, then turned, dropping into a ready stance. “But that’s not why you’re here. Let’s get this over with.”

His eyes met hers now, and she stared back, then smirked. At the end of the day, she had bigger problems than one zealot’s crisis of face. She tossed him the darksaber, but he let it fall to the ground, then kicked it away.

“There’s nothing in your story that says I have to fight with it, and I don’t need a laser sword to beat you.”

She nodded, then sprang forward, going for his legs. When she reached him he put one arm on her back then threw his legs backward, letting his weight fall on her shoulder. His arm went to wrap around her neck, but she shifted her arm and drove them both to the ground, fist landing in his stomach with him flat on his back. Without his armor it took the wind out of him, giving her the opening to grab the arm he had planned to choke her with and pin the wrist to the ground. Her other arm slipped under his bicep and lifted, putting strain on his shoulder that she knew from experience was very, very uncomfortable.

“Yield,” she demanded, narrowing her eyes. He froze for a moment, then banged his head forward, hitting the front of her chin. It wasn’t enough to do any real damage, not with her shoulder in the way, but it’s enough to weaken her grip, allowing him to shift his hips to get enough leverage to flip them over and free his arm. He tried to pull back, but she had her legs wrapped around him. He growled, voice rumbling and threw a punch at his head, but she brought her leg up to block it. It was clear Din wasn’t as experienced with ground combat, had probably rarely needed it with his heavy beskar and jetpack, but her armor was lighter and more flexible, allowing her the mobility to put her skills into practice. She grabbed the arm she had trapped with her leg, pulling it straight, her other foot slipped over his other arm, wrapped around the back of his neck, and locked under her other knee, completing the circle. Then she squeezed, her thigh against one side of his neck, his shoulder, pulled straight, against the other.

He reared back, trying to dislodge her, but it was clear he didn’t have practice going without his helmet because his panic was written all over his face. He flailed, then stilled, then went limp, his eyes open but blank. As soon as she saw that she let go, panting as she disengaged. Din blinked, then rolled onto his back, gasping. Koska walked over and Bo-Katan took her offered arm.

On her feet, she looked down at Din, smiling with her mouth open. “You’ve gotten sloppy,” she claimed, bending over to reclaim the dark saber. Koska gives her a look, but she shakes her head. She’s not going to pretend to make him feel better, even if it’s clear he’s going through something. “I would expect more from a Mandalorian, but I’ll cut you some slack because it’s clear you’re not used to fighting out of armor. Either way, I think we proved I deserve this more than you.” Bo-Katan shakes the darksaber over his head, then attaches it to her belt.

Din sighed, staring at the sky and lettings his arms fall to the ground outstretched. Koska made a face, then nudged him with her foot. “You need to figure yourself out. You’re a Mandalorian, whatever happens. That’s not something you give up when one thing goes wrong, it’s something to hold onto when you’re sinking, because no matter what you know who you are and where you belong.”

He shook his head, moving his hand to grab his necklace. “I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

Bo-Katan exchanged a look with Koska, then stepped back. “Alright. When you’re ready to fight for what’s ours, you know how to reach us.” She ignited the dark saber, feeling the hum of it all the way up to her elbow. She held it up to the sky and it cut a line of pure contrast through her vision. She pointed it to where Mandalore is, where her heart pulls her even if everything and everyone stands in the way. Then she turned it off and let her arm fall. “Let’s go.”

They skirted the town on the way back to their ship, and the weight of the dark saber feels more real than it has since it first left her for Gideon.

“That wasn’t much of a fight, Bo.”

Bo-Katan snorted, then grabbed Koska’s hand. “No, but it was enough. I think anyone watching would say that I deserve it over him, not with the state he’s in.” She glanced over at Koska, grin falling and eyes widening. “Unless you disagree?”

Koska smiled gently, giving her hand a squeeze in return. “No, but it’s a bit of a let down. You’ve worked so hard to get here, you deserve it more than anyone. I’m just sorry you didn’t get to kill Gideon yourself.”

Bo-Katan smiled back, then laughed and shoved at Koska. “So much work to do, and you’re sad there isn’t more.” She shook her head, eyebrows drawing a determined line across her face. “I know who I am, and what I’m worth. Our people deserve a Mand’alor with no doubts, no regrets. That’s who I’ll be.” She turned to Koska, whose face was full of pride and hope.

“No, Bo, that’s who you are.” The other Mandalorian knelt. “You have my loyalty, and you will gain everyone else’s. The darksaber is just a tool, a symbol that shows you have what it takes to lead. So lead, Mand’alor, and the rest of them will follow. Bring us home.”

Bo-Katan nodded shakily, then brought her hand to the woman’s cheek. “I will stop at nothing to get back what we lost, but you are my home, cyar’ika.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the last we'll see of these two because I don't have it in me to write post-rotj politics, but I wanted to include them because they did have a big impact on Mando's growth as a character. Also, they deserve it.
> 
> And yeah, Din’s not feeling very Mandalorian right now due to reasons I'll hopefully expand on in another chapter, but to be honest I have no idea if or when my motivation to write will fail so I'm trying to make each chapter a reasonable ending point that doesn’t depend on the next existing to have a satisfying emotional arc. That said, who knows how much more of this there will be. It will all follow Din though, even if from other characters perspectives.
> 
> I have more to say about verb tenses and a Harry Potter crossover where Din’s part of a pureblood family that magics their kids to not have their bodies shoe their emotions instead of wearing a helmet, but this is already longer than I normally like my authors notes.

**Author's Note:**

> If dark troopers can punch through blast doors no way Din got out of that fight scott-free, beskar or no beskar.
> 
> Anyway, I have thoughts on growing up never seeing faces, as well as Din giving up everything for Grogu, then giving up Grogu as well. Might turn this into a longer story if I'm feeling it, but for now it's complete.


End file.
